He looked up.
She folded hands.
“Do you want me?”
His eyes darkened.
“Martha.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
Her pulse jumped.
Gideon continued:
“That doesn't change agreement.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She stood.
Walked around table.
Stopped close.
Very close.
Gideon remained seated.
That gave Martha strange confidence.
She rested fingers against his coat collar.
He inhaled.
“Careful.”
She almost smiled.
“Mountain man nervous?”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised her.
“Of me?”
“Of doing something wrong.”
Martha’s throat tightened.
She moved closer.
“What if I tell you what isn’t wrong?”
Gideon looked at her.
“I listen.”
She placed his hand against her waist.
Not lower.
Not higher.
Exactly where she wanted it.
His hand settled.
Large.
Warm.
Still.
Martha whispered:
“That’s fine.”
Gideon nodded.
“And this?”
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
He stopped breathing.
Martha smiled.
“Also fine.”
Gideon turned slightly.
Their faces close.
He did not kiss her.
She waited.
Then:
“You can.”
His voice roughened.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Gentle first.
So gentle Martha almost laughed.
Then she kissed him back harder.
Gideon’s hand tightened at her waist.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to tell truth.
Martha had spent years being told her body was too much.
For the first time, she felt a man hold her as if abundance was not burden.
When they separated, Gideon looked shaken.
Martha rested forehead against his.
“You look frightened.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I want more.”
Martha smiled softly.
“So do I.”
His eyes lifted.
She continued:
“Not tonight.”
Gideon nodded immediately.
“Fine.”
No disappointment sharpened his face.
No persuasion.
No sigh.
Just fine.
Martha nearly kissed him again because of that alone.
Instead she whispered:
“Good night.”
She went to her room.
Gideon remained at table staring at harness for fifteen minutes without repairing anything.
The next morning nothing changed.
That was another gift.
No smugness.
No assumption.
No sudden husband behavior.
He still knocked.
Still slept separately.
Still asked before touching.
But now when their hands met, neither pretended accident.
Caleb noticed eventually.
Children always did.
He cornered Martha near pantry.
“Do you like him?”
She almost dropped a jar.
“What?”
“Gideon.”
“Yes.”
“As what?”
Martha stared.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Not old enough.”
Caleb crossed his arms.
“You kissed him.”
Martha’s face burned.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You were asleep.”
“I got water.”
Martha closed eyes.